Out of Order
by Pimino
Summary: They say machines have no emotion whatsoever. But if they did, how would we know? Michelangelo is ready to find out when the ever-mechanical Donatello begins to obsessively indulge himself into his latest 'project' ...again. A fluffy ficlet set in the 2k12 'verse.


**Out of Order**

I guess it's just in his nature to be like this.

Sometimes, he's worse than Leo, and that says a _lot_. But the difference between them is that while Leo might eventually break from some persistent prodding from Raph or one of my totally irresistible hugs, Don will just… disappear. I actually find it fascinating how he can just curl into himself without any warning whatsoever. Once something bad happens that he doesn't like, he'll refuse to talk to anyone for days. But I'm certain that if his precious machines could talk, he would ramble for hours on end.

I swear, I think he's a machine himself on the inside. It's the only logical explanation as to why he runs crying to his scraps of metal instead of his own brothers.

But as the saying goes, every genius has a little madness. I just wish that so-called 'madness' would reveal itself in another way other than making my depressed brother afraid to reach out to his own family.

So, _I_ reach out to _him_ instead.

"Come on Do~nnie!" I gleefully call towards the unforgiving metallic surface of the lab door. "We gotta go soon! We haven't been topside in _forever_ – aren't you excited?"

All of us had been on our monthly Training Week. If you're wondering, yes, I named it and it's a sucky title. But it's such an _awful_ time period that it doesn't deserve a flashy name; all we do for an entire seven days is train, train, train, and train some more. We aren't allowed to go topside unless something big happens.

For Leo, it's absolute heaven; he gets to practice his katas for hours on end with Master Splinter without any worries of the topside world. Raph just grumbles the entire time, I try not to collapse under my own weight, and everyone knows without saying that Don is itching to get back to his projects every single moment of the Training Week.

I swear, I really think he's a robot. Could explain why he hides all his feelings. Except, you know, being love-struck for April.

Speaking of April, we haven't seen her or Casey for a while. Last time we talked face-to-face with them, April had said some "school finals were coming up", and that both she and Casey needed to spend some more time studying and preparing for those huge tests. While Casey snorted in amusement, April tended to poor Donnie who was utterly heartbroken at being separated from her. I'm pretty sure he's gotten over it like the rest of us though; it's been two weeks already, and none of us have really talked about them.

But still, he _really_ needs to give himself some distance from her.

"Mikey, I'm extremely busy right now," Donnie's muffled voice replies from the other side of the door. "I'll try to finish, but if I can't…"

I frown, looking at the metal door with an empty stare as I cross my arms. "You can't skip out _again, _D! You barely went on any patrols after the last Training Week and Master Splinter said you can't do that anymore."

A rather loud _clink _of metal sounds from the lab, followed by a strange whirring noise. "I know, I just… acetone, acetone, where's my acetone… I'll uh, try, okay?"

It's an empty statement. I get those a lot from my brothers when they don't want to be disturbed by me anymore. Normally, I would brush it off and simply agree just for both of our sakes, but this time, I'm going to screw Donnie's mechanical head back on straight.

Taking a deep breath, I chance, "Don, can I come in?"

There's a rather long pause. Even the weird whirring noise momentarily ceases. Guessing he didn't hear me, I try again. "Can I?"

I can practically feel the deep sigh he releases on my facial skin despite the fact that we're divided by a large hunk of metal. "Mike, do you really have to –"

"Please."

Another sigh, but a few seconds later, the sealed door gives a gentle _click. _Resting my hand on the doorknob, I give it a twist and swiftly slide the door open. My wandering eyes immediately spot my brother returning to his desk, the entire lab table he's approaching overflowing with beakers and paperwork and strange bulks of metals. I have no clue how he finds working his fingers until they're numb is relaxing.

Must be that strange robotic connection he has with his projects.

Donnie barely spares me a glance as I approach him. Instead, he busies himself at the cluttered lab table, shuffling a few papers and stirring some unidentifiable contents in a glass container.

"So," I drawl, leaning down to get to eye level with some bubbling liquid inside a beaker, "whatcha doing?"

"I uh… I'm…" He drifts off as he studies a random piece of paper he manage to locate from somewhere in his belongings. I patiently wait, silently watching as his brown eyes scan over the scribbling. As I do, though, I take notice of the dark bags that reside under his dull, red irises.

"Dude, have you slept at all since last week?" I ask, cocking my head to get a better view of his face. However, as soon as I do, his eyes make brief contact with mine before he turns away.

"A bit," he replies with a shrug. "Been too busy."

I roll my eyes. "Bro, you really gotta get your priorities straight. You can't just _not _sleep. I'm no doctor, but I'm pretty sure it's not healthy."

Something along the lines of "You don't say," escapes his lips, but otherwise, he disappears into his fantasy robot-scientist world again. Heaving out a long-suffering sigh, I plop into his trusty spinning chair and sway back and forth as I watch him work on whatever it is he's working on. His eyes show no emotion except intense concentration, evidenced by the way they are uncharacteristically narrowed and fidgety. Don doesn't get like this often, but when he does, it takes _days _for him to finally relax and open up to either me, Raph, Leo, or sometimes even Splinter.

I don't have time for that; I want us to go on that patrol as _brothers. _

Leaning forward in the creaking chair, I snatch a stranded wad of sticky notes from his desk along with an overused pencil. Placing the colorful stack of sticky papers onto my knee for a solid surface to write on, I scribble a message onto the top page before bluntly ripping it off. I waste no time in second-guessing myself as I shoot up off the office chair and squeeze my way between my troubled brother and his vast, slightly suffocating lab table. Donnie hardly has time to open his mouth to question me before I slap the sticky note directly between his eyes. Then, with his strained brown eyes watching me, I simply plop back into the office chair.

Never taking his eyes from mine, Donnie reaches up to his head and peels the note from his skin. Finally breaking our short-lived staring contest, he glances down at the sticky with puzzlement.

"_Out of Order?_" he reads with question in his voice. "What?"

I muster up a minor smile as our eyes meet. "You can't keep being like this, D," I explain. "Being all moody and emo-like really puts a damper on everyone else."

"I'm… I'm not doing anything, though," he states. "I'm just working."

"Maybe," I agree with a small sighing sound, "but when you aren't, you're walking around like you're some sort of zombie or robot or something that shows, like, _zero_ emotion other than exhaustion and stress. If that doesn't scream 'depressed', I don't know what does."

"I'm not depressed," he counters with a weak chuckle that I frown upon. "I'm just fine, I promise. I just want to get this project done as soon as I can and nothing else."

"You know what you're next 'project' should be?" I question, and he raises a quizzical eye ridge at me. Smirking, I say, "A lie detector; it could really help me, especially with you."

Letting out yet another limp, breathy substitute for a laugh, Donnie rubs the back of his neck and his eyes flicker back and forth between me and his everlasting experiments. Finding the strength to focus on me even if only for a few seconds, he simply says, "I'm fine Mike. You don't need to worry."

I stare blankly at him, and he shifts uncomfortably under my gaze. Quietly _tsking _as I shake my head, I reach forward and grab my trusty sticky notes and pencil once more. He silently watches me as I etch a few letters onto a clean sheet of the colorful paper, and cocks his head to read my messy handwriting as I slap the note onto the top right of my plastron.

Finally, a true laugh escapes my brother, and I can't help but to smile along with him as he says, "_Technician?" _

"Yeah bro," I reply gently as Donnie sets himself on the edge of his desk, "Let me help fix you. Please?"

Crossing his arms over his plastron as his fingers gently thumb the _Out of Order _sticky he holds in his hand, Donnie breaks eye contact and instead focuses his gaze on the floor beneath us. A few awkward seconds pass between us but they're soon forgotten as Donnie looks back up, and his suddenly pale and collapsed face shatters my heart. He swallows once, twice before simply saying:

"April…"

* * *

><p><strong>AN**

**First off, I want to apologize for being extremely late on updates to all of my stories. As soon as winter break started, I seriously injured my wrist, and it hurts like hell. Imagine what it feels like to type -_- ! However, I hope this small fic will hold most of you over. Apritello FTW(:**

**Until next time ~!**


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